Happy Father’s Day to all you Dads. I’m sure many of your dads are lovely fellas and all but I’m particularly partial to mine. Not just because he’s a member of the duo responsible for my existence, although that may bias me some, there are other reasons. Reasons that are many and multiplying as we meander through life as father and son.

Father and son. I have a vivid memory of an official “Father Son” gathering we took part in back when I was a wee lad and he was a young dad. I was about 12, and all I knew going in was that it was billed as a “Father Son Banquet”, and that title alone peaked my enthusiasm in attending this special supper. I should have done a little more investigating into the exact agenda of the event before getting caught up in the jovial anticipation of attending such an exclusive gathering of us men type.

The event turned out to be a recruiting party for the priesthood. The atmosphere took a turn while we were shown a grainy black and white video of a day in the life of some boys in the seminary. I got nervous, panicky, and bit nauseous. I suddenly felt that there was a possibility that although I had come there with my dad I was going to be leaving in a bus full of boys bound for the priesthood.

As a twelve year old I didn’t know much, but I did know that I didn’t want to be a priest. I wanted to play shortstop for the Yankees, jump a motorcycle like Evel Knievel, and live in the mountains with a pet squirrel like Grizzly Adams. Bears scare me so I downsized to a squirrel. Besides it takes less fabric to sew costumes for a squirrel than a grizzly bear. You have to consider such things when you’re going to be out in the middle of nowhere relying on varmints for entertainment.

Were all of our dads in cahoots with the priesthood recruiters? How much did they stand to make for selling us out? Would mom notice if dad come home alone? How can people eat scalloped potatoes at a time like this?

The boys in the recruiting video all wore the same uniform and had Johnny Unitas haircuts. This too would be an issue. My mother had traumatized me as a young child by dressing me and my brother in matching homemade outfits and I was beginning to dabble in the thrilling world of the mullet. Exciting times.

I am grateful to my father for so many things. Not handing myself and a Ziploc bag containing my toothbrush and a spare pair of underwear over to the priesthood recruiters is one such thing. Maybe two pair of underwear, I had a bed wetting issue.

Mostly I am grateful for the unyielding love and support he has selflessly given my siblings and myself day in and day out. No matter the height of stupidity we ascend to he is there to cushion our fall back to reality with kind words and perhaps some money for the damages. Love you dad.